Shades of Truth Read Online Free PDF Page A

tragedy for a mom to pray now and then?” She rubbed her temples. “Sadie …”
    I sat next to her on the bed. Some days were worse than others, the worst being the days she stopped believing she’d get better.
    “Mom, of course you can pray. Whatever you need to do.”
    “No, you’re right. Why would God listen to me now? I’ve said all of three prayers in my life.”
    “I didn’t mean …”
    “I’m just so tired, Sades. And the more I lay around, the more tired I get.”
    “Give our new life a chance, Mom.” My words sounded hollow, even to me.
    Still, Mom pretended to smile. We had played this game ever since she first got sick — both of us pretending that we’d send the monsters away by ignoring them.
    “So how was school? How was art?”
    “I drew grapes. And I made a friend.” There. No need to give her all the details and depress her even more.
    Mom tried to stand but her legs buckled. I leapt off the bed and caught her. Her shoulders were skin and bones.
    “Lay down, Mom. I can make spaghetti for dinner. Would you like a glass of water?”
    Mom leaned back against the pillows. “That would be lovely.” She caught my hand, her skin soft as rose petals. “Thank you, Sadie.”
    When she closed her eyes, I whispered under my breath. “One … two … three …” By the time I’d counted to fifty, her expression smoothed and her breathing calmed. Shewould be all right. I filled her glass, closed the door quietly, and went downstairs to boil water.
    Look at what’s real
,
Sadie
,
not at what you expect
. What did I expect? That Mom would get better no matter what? And God? If he hadn’t helped already, why would he help now?
    “Sadie, Sadie, Sades!” Dad blasted through the front door and into the kitchen.
    He picked me up, swung me around, and breathed in deep. “Smells heavenly.”
    “You should check on Mom,” I kept my voice as light as I dared. “The spaghetti will be done in a few minutes.”
    “Spaghetti Sadie-style. Love it.”
    His footsteps echoed up the stairs, and soon his voice murmured in their room.
    I took my time draining the water, letting the steam tickle my nose. Dad came back into the kitchen just as I started spooning noodles onto plates.
    “I’ll take spaghetti up to Mom later. Let’s you and I eat in the kitchen.” Dad took his plate. He gave me a tight smile, but his eyes looked grim.
    This was how we talked — in big looping circles. He was telling me Mom was okay, for now. The
for now
lodged in my mind, a jagged splinter of memories of Mom’s bad days, weeks, sometimes even months. When the exhaustion settled in, no one knew how long it would remain. No one knew how long we’d tell ourselves Mom was okay. As though okay was enough. Suddenly, I needed tomorrow tobe different. Tomorrow I had to escape the house, if only for a few hours, just so I could breathe.
    “Can I get ice cream after school tomorrow with Ruth?”
    “Who’s Ruth?”
    As we ate, I told him about Ruth and then about Vivian’s house, the cookies, the fish, the paintings, and her art studio. By the time I finished describing my drawing of the grapes, I was grinning.
    Dad put down his fork. “Sadie, this calls for a celebration. Let’s go into town and get marshmallows. Mom might even help us toast s’mores in the fireplace.”
    We sang along to the country station all the way into town. Murray’s grocery store was a long building at the end of Main Street. We bought marshmallows and graham crackers and mini-chocolate bars and then piled back into the Jeep. On our way home, just after we’d crossed the bridge, a shot echoed through the forest, followed by a low bellow. Dad slowed, looking into the trees. He pulled onto the shoulder and left the Jeep running.
    “Stay in the car, Sadie.”
    I couldn’t just sit there. When Dad cleared the tree line, I turned off the car, jumped down and followed. I found him a little way in, squinting into the trees, listening.
    My heart thudded,